Time’s Eye

Josh stepped forward, his most charming grin fixed in place. “You mustn’t mind Ruddy, ma’am. These expatriates have their eccentricities, and the soldiers are too busy holding out their guns at you. Come, let’s get on with it.” And he strode toward the “chopper,” rolling up his sleeves.

Abdikadir beckoned to Ruddy and Josh. “Help me lift him out.” With Abdikadir supporting from the far side, Ruddy got hold of Casey’s back, while Josh, cautiously, got his arms under his legs. Another man produced a blanket from somewhere and laid it on the ground. Abdikadir gave them a lead: “One, two, three, up. “Casey screamed when they raised him off his seat, and again when Josh allowed his damaged leg to brush the frame of the “chopper.” But in seconds they had Casey out and set on his side on the blanket.

Breathing hard, Josh studied Abdikadir. He was a big man, made bulkier by his uniform, his blue eyes striking. “You’re Indian?”

“Afghan,” Abdikadir said evenly. He watched Josh’s startled reaction. “Actually I’m a Pashtun. I take it you don’t have too many of us in your army.”

“Not exactly,” Josh said. “But then it isn’t my army.” Abdikadir said nothing more, but Josh had the sense that he knew, or had guessed, more about this strange situation than anybody else.

Private McKnight came running back, breathless. He said to Bisesa and Abdikadir, “Captain Grove wants to see the two of you in his office.”

Batson nodded. “Move.”

“No,” Casey grunted from his blanket. “Don’t leave the ship. You know the drill, Abdi. Wipe the damn memory. We don’t know who these people are—”

“These people ,” Batson said menacingly, “have big guns that are pointing at you. Choop and chel. ”

Bisesa and Abdikadir seemed confused by Batson’s mixture of strong Geordie with bits of Frontier argot, but his meaning was clear enough: shut up and move. “I don’t think we have a choice right now, Casey,” Bisesa said.

“And you, chum,” Batson said to Casey, “are heading for the infirmary.” Josh saw Casey was trying to conceal his alarm at this prospect.

Bisesa turned to go with McKnight, escorted by a few more armed privates. “We’ll come find you as soon as we can, Casey.”

“Yes,” Abdikadir called. “Don’t let them saw anything off in the meantime.”

“Ha ha, you prick,” Casey growled.

Ruddy muttered, “It seems that soldiers’ humor is universal, no matter where they come from.”

Josh and Ruddy tried to tag along with Bisesa and Abdikadir, but Batson politely but firmly turned them away.

7. Captain Grove

Bisesa and Abdikadir were walked to the fort they had glimpsed from the air. It turned out to be a box-shaped enclosure surrounded by stout stone walls, with round watchtowers in each corner. It was a substantial base, and evidently well maintained.

“But it’s not on any map I ever saw,” Bisesa said tensely. Abdikadir didn’t reply.

The walls were manned by soldiers in red coats or khaki jackets. Some even wore kilts. The soldiers all seemed short, wiry, and many had bad teeth and skin infections; they wore kit that was heavily patched and worn. Native or otherwise, the soldiers all stared with open curiosity at Bisesa and Abdikadir—and, regarding Bisesa, with undisguised sexual speculation.

“No women here,” Abdikadir murmured. “Don’t let it bother you.”

“I wasn’t.” Too much had happened to her today, she told herself, for her to allow a few leering troopers in pith helmets and kilts to worry her. But the truth was her stomach churned; it was never good for a woman to be captured.

The heavy gates were open, and carts drawn by mules passed through. What looked like a stripped-down artillery piece was carried on the back of a couple more mules. The mules were driven by Indian troopers—what Bisesa heard the white soldiers call sepoys .

Inside the fort there was an air of bustle and orderly activity. But, Bisesa thought, what was more remarkable than what was here was what was lacking, such as any kind of motor vehicle, radio antenna or satellite dish.

They were taken into the main central building, and led to a kind of anteroom. Here McKnight issued a blunt order: “Strip.” His sergeant major, he said, wasn’t about to let them into the Captain’s hallowed presence without a thorough check of what was concealed under their bulky flight suits.

Bisesa forced a grin. “I think you just want to take a peek at my butt.” She was gratified by the look of genuine shock on McKnight’s face. Then she start to peel off her layers, starting with her boots.

Under her flight suit she wore a load-bearing harness. Into its pockets she had crammed a canteen of water, maps, a set of night-vision goggles, a couple of packs of chewing gum, a small plastic first aid pack, other survival rations and gear—and her phone, which had the sense to keep itself inert. She crammed her useless wraparound microphone into an outside pocket. Off came shirt and trousers. They were both allowed to stop when they got down to their dirt-brown T-shirts and shorts.